This is the Reason
by Malallory
Summary: An old fic, written in 2006 between the releases of the 6th & 7th books. Harry is finally 17 and ready to leave the Dursleys, but an attack by some Death Eaters gets Harry sent to St. Mungo's, where he runs into some familiar faces.
1. The New Addition

_A/N:_ Hey everyone! This is a very old fic of mine, written in 2006, so all the information in here is based off of the first six books alone, as the seventh hadn't been released yet. I also didn't really bother to edit it when posting it up here, because I knew if I got started I would go crazy and just end up rewriting the whole thing, since the writing is that of a 16-year-old me instead of a 21-year-old me. So be kind, rewind, and enjoy!

P.S. The story is just 3 chapters- when originally writing it, I had planned for it to keep going but I eventually gave up on it and just let it be where it was, since the cutoff was not that bad. And you'll see in later chapters that some of my predictions were pretty dang on-the-spot; thank you, thank you, hold your applause. (Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not anywhere near being the only one who guessed a lot of that stuff correctly, but still. I was proud of it.) OKAY ANYWAY. Here we go.

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><p>Harry was sprinting, having just heard a loud BANG from the door of the house he had left only minutes ago, a square house with a tidy yard surrounded by other square houses with other tidy yards. But why on earth was he going back to the Dursleys' house? He did not want to go back, no, he had thought he would never have to again. But he flew in through the door, which oddly enough was wide open; even more oddly, the house was in total disarray. Inside he saw a fat, mustached man cowering against the side a staircase, with an even larger boy and a bony, long-necked woman peeking out in terror through the crack of a cupboard door behind him. Advancing toward them was a figure draped in black robes, face hidden behind a mask and a thin stick of wood pointed at the large terrified man. Harry was running at the robed Death Eater and pointing his wand at him, shouting… someone else with bushy brown hair was ushering the terrified Mr. Dursley inside the cupboard with his wife and son… the Death Eater was shooting curses at Harry and a tall boy with red hair who had just arrived from behind. Everything was confusion, chaos; now there was another robed figure, another Death Eater, who shot a spell at the girl with bushy hair that slammed her against the door of the cupboard as she closed it. The first Death Eater shot a jet of icy white light at Harry, whom he dodged, and then the second rushed at him with a small dagger and stabbed him in the stomach just as the redheaded boy hit the Death Eater with a spell that knocked him out… and Harry woke with a start.<p>

His surroundings were white and blurry. He began to stretch, but stopped abruptly as a throbbing pain went through his abdomen. So it hadn't been just a dream. The hospital room came into focus as he pulled his glasses on, revealing four faces staring at him from the bedside. Ron, Hermione, Lupin, and… Uncle Vernon. Harry sat up slowly, hardly believing his eyes. His uncle gave a self-conscious cough, twisting his hands together and muttering incoherently. Harry gave the others a questioning look, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to be able to speak clearly. Finally Lupin saved him the effort.

"Your aunt and cousin are fine. We repaired their house." He glanced over at the purple-faced man beside him and continued quietly, "We tried to explain what happened as best we could, but of course he didn't understand much." Uncle Vernon scowled behind him. "It seems that those two Death Eaters-"

"What the devil made those two freaks come into my house?" interrupted Uncle Vernon, seeming to finally find his voice. "You're not even gone an hour, and these maniacs come blasting their way through, looking for you, boy! Waving those… things around, smashing furniture, threatening my family! It's that lunatic after you again! And now here I am, in a hospital for your kind, all manner of impossible things circling and running and squawking about… and… and I demand to know what it is you have that they want! Why don't you just give it to them, and stop endangering my family!" Having said what seemed like everything that was on his mind in one breath, his moustache twitched nervously, and he cast a sidelong glance at Lupin's wand.

Harry sighed, noting mentally that his uncle didn't seem remotely concerned that his nephew had come close to being killed. But still, he might as well tell him the bare basics. "I don't have anything they want; it's me they're after." His uncle's eyes bulged at this news. "They probably thought I would still be there, and wanted to catch me now that they can get at me in your house. Look- go back home. They won't be after you anymore; they know you don't have what they want." Harry didn't know if he was being totally honest; he couldn't guarantee anyone's safety with the Dark Lord at large. He didn't mention that the only reason Voldemort probably wouldn't bother having the Dursleys killed was that he knew Harry hated them.

"Well then, see that you don't let it happen again." He stood awkwardly, looking as if he would have like to rant at Harry for telling him what to do, but his fear of all the wands in the room seemed to win him over. Harry felt a twinge of annoyance that Uncle Vernon hadn't even thanked him for saving his life, but he knew that the Dursleys would never admit Harry was good for anything, no matter what he did for them. Lupin clapped Harry on the shoulder with a small smile and told him to take care, then followed him out the door. Harry could hear him arguing with Uncle Vernon as to how he would get him back to Privet Drive. It seemed to him that those who knew him were less and less surprised every time he ended up in the hospital. As soon as he was sure Uncle Vernon was gone, he turned to Ron and Hermione.

"What happened to the Death Eaters? Who were they?"

Ron spoke in a hurry, obviously eager to get Harry's mind off the Dursleys, "They got away, both of them. Lupin and that little Dedalus Diggle bloke arrived soon after that second Death Eater got you, and they chased them out- didn't manage to catch them. Hermione and I were a bit- preoccupied- seeing as we didn't know if you were alive, mate. But listen," it seemed as if Ron was arriving at the point he was most anxious to discuss, "you won't believe who that first Death Eater was. The one who was interrogating your uncle. Narcissa Malfoy!"

Harry's eyes widened. "Malfoy's mum's a Death Eater now?"

"Apparently," Hermione spoke up. "The way we see it, either Voldemort's giving their family a second chance and she's trying to get the lot of them back on his good side, or she's trying to save her son from being murdered by getting you for him. Or… she's not really a Death Eater, and she was trying to kill you for her own reasons."

"I doubt Voldemort's all that ready to be pals with the Malfoys at the moment. They've screwed up far too much. I reckon you're right, though; whatever she's doing, she's doing it to try to get her darling Draco out of danger."

They discussed the possibilities of Narcissa Malfoy's new position and what had happened to Draco until a Healer with frizzy gray hair poked her head in. After she gave him some potion that made him feel very itchy for a few seconds, he remembered he had no idea how long he had been in the hospital and what they had done with him. He didn't feel like talking to the Healer, though, so he waited until she had left before asking Hermione, "So anyway, when can I get out of here?"

"The doctor- sorry, I mean Healer- says you should be able to leave tomorrow, as soon as they're sure your muscles are all healed. The knife really didn't go very deep, but it tore a muscle and it might hurt for quite a while. She says you were really very lucky that's all that happened…" Her voice faded tremulously, but then she came out of her reverie and said, "Listen Harry, we have to go soon. Mrs. Weasley's having a fit with worry, and Lupin has to go off somewhere as soon as he gets your uncle back to his house. We're really sorry to leave you like this, but there's nobody else to let her know what's happened, and she'd die of anxiety by the time an owl would be able to deliver it. Come by the Burrow tomorrow when they let you out, okay?" She waited anxiously for some reaction from Harry, but he just shrugged.

"Wish we knew how to send messages with Patronuses… we should see if Mad-Eye or someone will teach us," added Ron. "Anyway, we really do need to go; you've only been here for a night, you'd think mum would be able to just go to sleep, we told her you'd be okay. See you later, Harry."

"Okay. But what am I supposed to do all day? Am I allowed to leave the room?"

"They said you can walk around inside the hospital, as long as you don't strain yourself," Ron replied, grinning at the look on Harry's face. That sort of order sounded exactly like the sort of thing Madame Pomfrey had always been telling him. "Be nice to the 'doctors,' and they'll be nice to you," Ron called, heading out the door. Hermione huffed at the insult of her Muggle terminology, then kissed the top of Harry's head and followed Ron out the door.

"Now what?" grumbled Harry twenty minutes later when his ability to stare blankly at the ceiling failed him. He supposed he would go fix himself a cup of tea. Pushing himself off the bed, he carefully tested his ability to walk. His stomach hurt a little, but he was pleased to see that he had no trouble getting about. Maybe walking would help him heal more quickly so he could leave sooner. He hated the thought of Mrs. Weasley worrying about him. Remembering from his last visit here that the tearoom was on the top floor, he wandered down the hall, looking for a lift. Narcissa Malfoy… the thought of yet another Death Eater going about freely made him want to punch something. He stewed the intriguing but frustrating subject over and over in his mind, the idea of tea becoming fainter with every return to, Why? What does she have to offer Voldemort that would be tempting enough for him to forgive her family? But as he passed a door labeled the Janus Thickey Ward, he stopped short, and his thoughts jolted to the last time he had visited St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.


	2. That Unbearable Silence

_A/N:_ Hello again! Here's the second chapter. Really if I were to try and make this a more cohesive story I would just cut it off after this chapter, but when I was originally writing it five years ago I was planning on continuing for many more chapters. I finally decided I'd just upload everything I wrote. So there'll be one more chapter after this one. Enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

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><p>Harry stood frozen in front of the door to the Dai Llewyn Ward. Memories flooded his mind: <em>Gilderoy Lockhart eagerly signing portraits of himself in childish cursive; Broderick Bode, with an ugly plant next to his bed that would soon strangle him; Alice Longbottom, all the energy and life drained out of her face, her hair wispy and colorless; Ron, Hermione, and Ginny's distraught faces when they discovered what had happened to Neville's parents; Neville's face, glaring defiantly at them as though he thought they might laugh at him, Neville slipping a Drooble's wrapper from his mother into his pocket.<em>How could he have forgotten the last time he had been to this hospital? It had been impossible to forget it in the weeks following that day when he had seen Neville's mother. Ever since he had witnessed the trial of Barty Crouch Jr., Bellatrix Lestrange, and those other two Death Eaters in Dumbledore's pensieve, he had often thought of Neville's secret whenever he saw poor Neville being bullied by Snape or struggling through a Transfiguration lesson. Before he could stop himself, Harry knocked on the door.

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Harry considered making a run for it. Before he could make his stiff muscles bolt, though, the lock clicked from inside and a young witch with bouncy, tightly curled brown hair and numerous flowers protruding from the pockets of her Healer's robes appeared in the doorway. She smiled curiously at him, her eyes noting his hospital patient's robes.

"Lost, are you?" she asked sweetly. "I can call someone if you need help finding your way back to your room."

"Oh, no… er, well, I'm here to visit someone," he muttered, suddenly very aware of the Fwoopers Ron had been doodling on his arm while he was asleep.

"I'm sorry, dear, but this a closed ward… are you quite sure you wouldn't like help finding your way to your room?" She was giving him a sympathetic look that said only too plainly that she thought he was suffering from the effects of some potion.

"I'm _fine,_" he said impatiently. "I… I want to visit the Longbottoms… Frank and Alice Longbottom." He was beginning to worry she would refuse to let him in.

The Healer looked surprised. "Oh! But you're not… I didn't know- I suppose if… are you sure? They're not right in the head, you know, dear. They won't recognize you." Harry nodded at the floor, choosing not to mention that they hadn't known him anyway. The Healer studied his face, her eyes resting on his scar and widening for a moment before glancing away quickly. Apparently satisfied that he was neither out of his mind nor likely to give up, she opened the door wider and motioned him to two beds in the farthest corner. With a flick of her wand, she drew curtains around the beds and waved him inside. Harry took a breath and, clutching the heart-shaped locket in the pocket of his hospital robes, stepped through the curtains.

Harry's breath caught in his chest as he stared at the occupants of the two beds in front of him. He had never met Neville's father before; Frank Longbottom's eyes were wide and vacant, his skin shrunken and pale, and he had lost most of his hair. He sat hunched over a piece of parchment, focusing intently on the nonsense shapes and squiggles he was writing, and did not notice Harry standing near him. His wife, Alice, was just as frail and wispy-looking as Harry remembered. She was lying in a fretful slumber, wincing and shrinking from some terror in her sleep. Harry's heart throbbed with pity, and he wondered what she was seeing in her dream. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he quietly sat down next to her bed and took her thin hand in his.

Alice's eyes opened suddenly and she stared in confusion at her hand inside Harry's; her eyes then traveled up his arm to his face. She sat up and gazed expressionlessly at him for what seemed an eternity. Harry sat helplessly, wanting desperately to _do_something, but unable to force himself to move. Frank finally spotted Harry, and putting down his parchment, joined his wife in watching him from the edge of her bed. Harry could stand the silence no longer.

"Hello… I'm Harry Potter." His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. He swallowed. "I'm… I'm friends with your son, Neville- at school, you know." Why was this so hard? They weren't going to say anything, and they certainly weren't going to laugh at what _he _was saying. They just stared vacantly at him, sometimes smiling, sometimes gazing up at the rings holding up the curtain surrounding them. What had made Harry come in here, he did not know. All he knew was that somehow he needed to keep talking- perhaps just to prevent that awful silence.

"You would be proud of him. Neville, I mean. He's done a lot of great things. People don't think so; they don't know about it all, but he has. He's fought Death Eaters two times now. At the Ministry of Magic and at Hogwarts… he really was brave. Even when he was being tortured by Bellatrix Lestr…" Harry stopped short, realizing whom he was telling this to. Would they even recognize the name? Even though the idea was depressing, he hoped not.

"Well, anyway, he wouldn't give in to what she wanted. He was gonna let her keep torturing him to stop her from getting that prophecy… I was the one who couldn't handle it. He's braver than he thinks he is. That woman has ruined a lot of people's lives… I think he could do it because he had a reason. It always comes stronger if you have a reason."

Harry paused, lost in thought. He had a reason, too. It was sitting right in front of him. It was in his past- and in his future. Neville and Harry fought for the same reasons. He wasn't going to let anyone else die because of Voldemort- and especially not for himself. He was through watching people he loved suffer and die so _he_could go on for one more day, one more month, one more year.

"I'm not letting this happen to anyone else. Not if there's any way I can stop it. I will find a way to stop him- augh! But how?" Frustration was building up within him again, the same frustration he always felt at the prospect of finding and destroying four Horcruxes that he didn't know how to find and hadn't the faintest idea how to destroy. "_How?_ That night Dumbledore died- half the stuff he was doing, I had never even seen before!" He sighed, "I couldn't even fight off the Inferi, let alone summon hidden doors and find invisible chains! And then I've got to kill him, Voldemort, too; I'm the one who's got to do it, I know that. But what if I can't do it? Who else can? Someone has to… someone _has to stop him_… so this never happens to anyone else." He fingered the locket, remembering the day in Dumbledore's office when he had finally come to understand some small part of the power of love the headmaster had such faith in. "_It always comes stronger if you have a reason,_" he thought, "_and this is mine."_

He stopped and looked up when he heard a noise somewhere behind him, relaxing as he realized it was just a curtain rustling. But no, wait; it was close behind him… very close. Harry froze, his heart beating rapidly and the Hermione part of his mind berating him for having voiced so much important information in a room where anyone could happen to hear him. Trepidation pulsed through his mind as he turned- and saw a round face staring back at him. It was Neville.

Harry felt a strange mixture of worry and relief as he seized Neville's arm and pulled him into another chair. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, unable to force words out though his shock. He tried again.

"How much of that did you hear?" he ventured slowly, cursing his own carelessness.

Neville was trembling. "I-I didn't know you were here, Harry," he mumbled. "I was coming over and I heard a voice… I didn't know it was you until I was over here, and… and you were saying, "he's fought Death Eaters twice," or something like that. I didn't know what to do, Harry. Finally I decided to just come in and- Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop on you."

Harry's mind was racing. Neville had heard so many things he never should have heard. He had heard him talking about Horcruxes! He needed to fix this, but not without Ron and Hermione- well, Hermione, anyway. "Neville? I need to talk to Ron and Hermione," Harry was thinking fast. "D'you think your Gran would let you come over to Ron's house for the day tomorrow? This really is very important."

Neville hesitated. "I think so… maybe if you asked her with me? She likes you a lot. She's in the tearoom now. I… I've really screwed something up for you, haven't I?" Neville's face was full of anxiety.

Harry smiled ruefully. "No, I'm the one who screwed up. Someone was bound to overhear me; I'm just glad it was someone I know I can trust." Neville managed a small smile. There was silence between them. That awful silence- this place was full of it.

"Why are you here?" Neville asked tentatively, eyeing his robes.

Harry paused. "I screwed up again. I've sort of gotten in the habit, haven't I?"

"But why are you… _here?_"

Harry felt his face grow hot. "Look, Neville, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have- it wasn't my business. But I saw the door and I remembered them and I couldn't stop myself," he said, his voice getting quieter and quieter. "I really am sorry."

"I'm not mad," Neville spoke softly. He looked up suddenly "But Harry, you knew, didn't you? Before you saw me here the first time. You didn't look surprised like everybody else- just sad, like you already knew. How did you find out?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I did. Dumbledore told me. He wouldn't have, but… he had this thing called a Pensieve that holds your memories, and I sort of… fell in, and I saw the trial of the people who tortured them. I asked him about it, and he told me. He told me not to say anything to you or anybody else."

"I just _couldn't _tell anyone," Neville mumbled. "All the teachers already knew, and I didn't want everyone else feeling sorry for me like them. They all think it's why I'm so hopeless."

"No, they don't," Harry said firmly. "You're not hopeless, Neville, and any person with any sense at all knows it by now. People give me the pity looks, too, but it must be worse for you. At least… at least I don't have to be reminded as much as you do… I can move on for most of the time…"

"At least I can _see _mine, though. It's okay," Neville whispered.

"No, it's not."

Neville sniffed. "No, you're right. It's not. But what you said before… you were right. They have to be stopped." Silence again. This time, though, Harry didn't mind. He watched Frank Longbottom, who had returned to sit on his own bed, tracing the pattern on the quilt with his finger.

"We should go," he said finally. They stood up and turned to Neville's parents, unsure if he should say goodbye to them. Harry knew he would never forget this. As they turned to leave, Alice Longbottom stood up and pressed something into Harry's hand. Harry looked down and felt his breath catch in his throat. It was a Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.

He looked at Neville's mother, and then at Neville, lost for words. He just couldn't excuse how he had intruded upon Neville's private relationship with his parents. He opened his hand and offered the wrapper to him, but Neville smiled and shook his head. Harry stared at the crumpled wrapper, then tucked it into his pocket next to the heart-shaped locket.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you- when you were talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, and… and me… did you really mean it?"

Silence.

Harry looked at Neville's face, the face that could have bourn his scar. "You know I did."


	3. Housecleaning

As Harry and Neville left the ward where the Longbottoms lived, they spotted a stuffed vulture bobbing along the hallway toward them. Neville's grandmother walked briskly, looking as if she was determined to get to her destination in as little time as physically possible. Despite her rather amusing attire, people moved aside to let her pass under the force of her presence.

Neville, are you quite ready? I've got chowder cooking at home and I don't want it scorched, and I've still got a lot of housecleaning to do. Oh, hello, Harry dear." She eyed his hospital robes with a critical eye. "What have you been up to?"

"Hi Mrs. Longbottom- nothing. Neville and I were wondering if it would be all right if Neville visited the Burrow- that's Ron Weasley's house- tomorrow morning. We, um, want to show him something." Neville looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Harry gave him a warning glance. He certainly didn't need Neville's severe grandmother knowing that Harry had accidentally let Neville in on his most dangerous secret.

"Well, I don't see why not," she replied, beaming at Harry. Neville grinned at him then, bidding Harry farewell, Neville's grandmother held her grandson by the forearm and half lead, half dragged him down the corridor, Neville looking over his shoulder and waving as they rounded the corner.

Harry returned to his room to find Hedwig perched on a bedpost, preening herself. Smiling at her for her perfect timing, he scrawled a note to Ron and Hermione telling them that Neville had heard him talking about something "important" and that he had invited him to the Burrow the next day. He was sure Mrs. Weasley wouldn't mind.

"Just stay at Ron's once you're there, okay? I'll be there soon. I promise I'll give you some extra owl treats for having to leave as soon as you got here." She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze with her talons, and he watched her soar away, worry gnawing at his already sore stomach. How in the name of Merlin were they going to explain to Neville what he had heard? They certainly couldn't tell him about the Horcruxes; Harry was certain of that. But how would he convince Neville that it was unimportant, especially after how he had reacted in the Longbottoms' room? If he were able to perform a memory charm that would certainly solve the problem. But Harry didn't like the idea of doing it to Neville, and besides, memory charms could very easily go terribly wrong. Gilderoy Lockhart, in the same ward as the Longbottoms, was living proof of that. Harry lay down on the bed, and despite his busy and troubled thoughts, quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, after the Healer proclaimed him fully recovered, Harry hastily dressed in his newly washed and mended clothes and dashed to the tea room, where a large fire crackled merrily. Taking a pinch of Floo powder from a vase on the mantel, he tossed it in, shouted, "The Burrow!" and stepped into the warm, whirling flames.

He was greeted by a shriek from Mrs. Weasley, who came bustling over and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Oh, Harry dear, I can't _tell_you how worried I've been! Look at you; you're pale as parchment and still as skinny as ever. Attacked by Death Eaters in a Muggle house! And what a miracle there weren't more of them… are you hungry? Of course you are; hospital food isn't at all filling…" Ron and Hermione, sitting and holding hands at the kitchen table, grinned at Harry over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder as she continued to fuss over him.

"I'm alright, Mrs. Weasley, really-"

After a marvelous breakfast he, Ron, and Hermione climbed the stairs to Ron's bedroom. The familiar orange-bedecked room was comforting to Harry, helping to ease the worry still gnawing at his gut. He spotted Hedwig perched on a dresser, and stole some of Pigwidgeon's owl treats and tossed them to her. Harry then cast Muffliato around the three of them, and a small pang of guilt and resurfacing anger beset him as he recalled where he had learnt it. But Muffliato wasn't a Dark spell, and just because he had learned a spell from Snape didn't mean he shouldn't us it- after all, Snape had been the one who taught him the disarming charm, which had saved his life more than once.

Sitting cross-legged on Ron's bed, Harry told his friends about what Neville had overheard. Ron cursed under his breath, and Hermione chewed her bottom lip anxiously. They all knew they mustn't tell Neville about the Horcruxes, but what were they going to say? And should they let him in on the truth of the prophecy?

"Well, he _was_ there at the Ministry when the Death Eaters tried to retrieve it, and it _is_almost about him, too," said Hermione. "Do you think he could keep the prophecy secret? I mean, I know we can trust Neville, but how far? The more people know, the more dangerous it gets, and of course it won't be easy for him, knowing about it. Not as hard as it was for you, Harry, but still…"

"I think we ought to let him know," Harry mused. "Otherwise we'd just have to lie, and that could cause more problems than we've already got."

Ron spoke what really pressed on their minds: "What about the Horcruxes? We definitely can't tell… I mean, you didn't even tell Hagrid or Professor McGonagall or Lupin. Telling him would be too risky, for us and him."

They sat in tense silence for a minute, and then Hermione looked up from her knees. "You know, we're thinking about this too hard. We don't have to lie; we don't have to make up some story about them being a joke or being something else. We can just say we can't tell him about them, that it's really important he never, ever mention them at any time to anyone, and add that we really don't know all about them ourselves. We could stretch it and say it was just a theory… as long as he knows that he can't ever speak of them."

Harry wasn't entirely satisfied, but he supposed it was the best they would be able to do. "I just hope Neville will be able to remember not to mention it."

They trooped downstairs again to wait for Neville, and saw that he had already arrived. Harry was dismayed to see that Ginny was also sitting at the kitchen table. He had been hoping he wouldn't run into her while he was there that day, but that seemed a ridiculous hope in hindsight. They had last seen each other at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and Harry's heart had ached with misery every time he saw her. They had shared one dance, and his resolve had nearly shattered. At least they hadn't attempted to pretend everything was still the same, though. He didn't think he'd have been able to stand the fakeness of pretending things were exactly the same as they had been when they were just friends. But it killed him not to be able to kiss her when he left, and now he wanted nothing more than for her to run and throw her arms around him, and to forget everything else that was going on in his life. It just wasn't fair.

Ginny looked up as they entered and smiled, her eyes lingering on Harry's for just a moment longer than the others. Neville was being bombarded by Mrs. Weasley with offers of food and questions about his summer. He looked somewhat relieved when Ron invited him to come back up to his room. Ginny's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a sign Harry recognized as meaning she could tell something more was going on than a random friendly visit. Hermione saw it, too, and she and Harry looked at each other in doubt. Finally Harry nodded slightly, and Hermione beckoned Ginny over as well.

Harry was surprised at how little the news of what the prophecy meant for Harry shocked Neville and Ginny. It seemed that it only confirmed to them that Harry was going to go after Voldemort, and Neville was far more confident in Harry's abilities to do so than he was himself. Both of them, but especially Neville, had gaped open-mouthed when he explained that the prophecy could have been about Neville, had Voldemort chosen to attack him instead. Harry skirted around the reason Voldemort had gone after him and not Neville, but took great satisfaction in the looks on their faces when he told them who had given Voldemort the fraction of the prophecy he had heard. He then said that he had decided he was not going back to Hogwarts that year. Neville looked distressed and surprised, but as Ginny had already known as much she just looked at him sadly.

They then left the room, pretending that was all they had to tell and heading up to the Weasley's paddock to play Quidditch. Harry didn't want to have to make Ginny leave the room so they could speak privately with Neville, which would only alert her that there was more that they were not going to tell her about. Besides, he was sure she would be perfectly capable of eavesdropping if she had wanted to, knowing who she had for brothers. As they strolled through the trees, Harry lagged behind with Neville and cast Muffliato once again. Then he quietly told him exactly what Hermione had told him to say, and Neville seemed satisfied. He fervently promised never to mention the word again, and Harry was convinced he would keep his pledge.

That afternoon they came back to the house, hot and sweaty from the exercise, and in Neville's case, scratched and bruised from numerous tumbles off his broom or into trees. Neville left through the fire, and no sooner had he disappeared through the swirling green flames than Lupin's head appeared within them with a soft _pop_.

"Is Harry here? He said he would be today- oh, hello, Harry." Harry stepped around the table and crouched by the grate. Lupin's face was still as worn and tired as ever, but his eyes were brighter and he looked much happier than when Harry had seen him the day before. "Glad to see you're all patched up. I've got some, well, not _bad_news, exactly, but… well… anyway…" Harry raised his eyebrows at him. Lupin sighed and then gave an exasperated laugh. "Well, I went upstairs to the master bedroom this morning at the headquarters, where Kreacher usually goes to talk to his mistress's old nightgowns or whatnot, and…" he pulled a face, "I found him dead in the wardrobe."

Harry opened his mouth, changed him mind, and closed it again. He was entirely unsure of what to say. To tell the truth, he was sort of relieved that he wouldn't have to hear Kreacher's mutterings or worry about him keeping the Order's secrets any longer. But Hermione was standing behind him, and he didn't want to show his real sentiments and get her going on another elf rights tirade. He really didn't want to have to start wearing a S.P.E.W. badge again.

Lupin chuckled. "Don't worry, there's no need to pretend you're upset or anything. I wouldn't have bothered to tell you here, but the thing is, we don't know what to do with him now. The Black family has always had their house-elves' heads mounted on the wall in that hallway, but-"

Ron made a funny noise behind Harry. "You're _not_going to go chopping off his head, are you? That's disgusting!"

Harry fervently agreed. "You really don't need to do that," he said hastily. "Can't you just bury him? I'm positive nobody will want to be the one to decapitate Kreacher."

"I'm very relieved you're not opposed to, ah, breaking that particular family tradition of theirs, Harry, because it really is up to you, since you are- were- his master. We would have just gone ahead and buried him, but we're not sure what would have happened. You can never know what kinds of old spells are still lingering over that house and those in it. So we thought if you were there, maybe it would pass as an act of one of the family."

"It's worth a try," Harry said, shrugging. "And who's this 'we' you keep referring to?"

Lupin grinned, his ears red, and pulled his head out of the fire with another muffled _pop_. Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes and followed.

They emerged from the fireplace of Number 12, Grimmauld Place to find a very different house from the one they had last seen. The kitchen was much cleaner, and was repainted with fresh white paint. Harry peered down the hallway and saw that it too had been repainted, save for a long, horizontal hole in the wall near the ceiling. Harry thought sadly that Sirius would have loved to see this house looking so clean, happy, and Dark magic-free. He tried to push those thoughts away.

Tonks, her hair long, straight, and a bright, acid-blue, was pouring a blackened, chunky, sticky mess into a bowl. Harry realized with a suppressed snort that it was supposed to be spaghetti sauce. With a disgruntled groan Tonks pulled her wand from her jeans pocket and vanished the entire ruined concoction. She looked up at the four emerging from the fireplace and grinned. "I had an idea while you were gone, Remus! I accidentally knocked a bookcase over in the hallway, and it made a hole in the wall. So I thought that instead of trying to get those heads of the wall, which we can't to because of that Permanent Sticking charm, we could just remove the wall itself!" She beamed at Lupin, and Harry now noticed that there was brick dust in her hair. At least she had a valid excuse for burning her sauce, and Harry rather liked her take on housecleaning.

"So you just… demolished the wall?" asked Ron dubiously. "D'you reckon it'll work on those portraits- particularly a certain friendly woman who likes to scream at us?"

She rolled her eyes. "I sure hope so. Every time I make any loud noise she wakes up. It drives me crazy! Anyway, your late devoted servant is in the back of the house, Harry. I put him in an old wooden box, and now we just need you to be there to make burying him legitimate." She shuddered, and said, "Am I glad it wasn't me who found him up there. Nasty little creep."

Hermione scowled, but spared them a lecture. "Let's just get this over with. Then maybe we should clean out that little room of his in that cupboard, Harry."

They went out the back door quietly, Lupin checking carefully that no neighbors on either side of the house were watching. Then, with a wave of his wand, he scooped a hole out of the earth and Harry levitated the small wooden box into it. Satisfied that lightning wasn't going to strike them or Kreacher's ghost wasn't going to rise up and attack them, they retreated inside for ham sandwiches. Tonks had given up on the spaghetti idea.

"By the way, you three, this isn't officially the Order's headquarters at the moment. We need to decide on a new Secret-Keeper, now that…" he blinked. "Well, once we do whoever it is will need to write you all new notes revealing the location, so that you'll be able to come back here. And we've decided that, now that you're all of age, you may join the Order if you wish, even though you're still in school. You're old enough and have seen enough to be able to know what's going on." The three friends exchanged anxious and guilty glances. Nobody felt like telling him that they weren't planning on going back to Hogwarts that year. Lupin continued, "Now, Harry, even though you do own this house, we thought it would be foolish to make you the Secret-Keeper. We don't need to make you any more of a target for the Death Eaters than you already are." Harry was glad. He didn't want to be worrying about never speaking the location of the headquarters aloud on top of everything else.

After lunch Harry, Ron, and Hermione knelt down by the cupboard that had been Kreacher's bedroom. Ron smirked, seeing that the quilt Hermione had made for him had been used to stop the pipes from leaking. Together they scooped out the nook's entire contents and spread them out, looking to see if there was anything dangerous they would need to dispose of specially, or anything worth keeping.

Hermione found the cracked picture of Bellatrix Lestrange and immediately set it on fire, glaring at it as it curled into ashes. Ron found a small glass jar with a large white and red spider in it and dropped it in alarm. The jar broke, and Ron refused to come down from on top of the table until Hermione had recaptured it and secured it safely inside the repaired jar with a giggle. Harry found a pair of magnificent silver earrings with pearl drops hanging from them. Remembering the cursed necklace from Borgin and Burkes', though, he called Lupin over to see if there were any spells upon them. Assured they were perfectly harmless, he offered them to Hermione, who put them on after washing them vigorously in the sink. They had made their way through about half of the pile when Harry and Hermione froze in shock. Ron had spotted a gleaming silver chain and pulled it out, and was now holding a long silver necklace on which, adorned with an ornate letter 'S,' dangled a large silver locket.

| The End |

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><p>Thanks for reading, everyone! The cliffhanger was kind of mean back before the release of Deathly Hallows, but now that we all know what actually happens, I kind of think it works. Please review!<p> 


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